Copilot
by PaperMango
Summary: Supernatural AU Sam is on his way to his first day at work when he comes across Dean, drunk and downtrodden on his doorstep. Sam sees his brother as broken, but Dean swears he's not. He has a copilot- an angel, no less, named Castiel who is keeping him in line. Is Dean crazy to listen to the voice in his head? Will he be able to deny his own insanity when he falls in love?
1. Chapter 1

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own SUPERNATURAL or any of the characters. I just write fanfiction.**_

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**September 2008**

Sam straightened his tie. This was it. His big day. After pounding his way through textbooks and exams and excruciatingly long hours in the library, he'd made it. He was a lawyer.

He tucked his shirt in.

Pushed his hair back.

Smiled. Smiling was hard. He was nervous.

God, Llewelyn and Co. was the top. Who would have thought that he, Sam Winchester of white-picket-fence-nuclear-family-crusts-cut-off background would ever get an opportunity like this.

This was good. This is where he wanted to be, and there was Jess, lying in bed sleeping, hand rested on her already bulging stomach. He kissed her forehead. She didn't stir at all. That made him smile for real.

Shoes, coat, keys... He had pretty much given up on the whole breakfast idea, since his stomach was in knots, but he stopped to grab a granola bar on the way out.

He had to stop again on the steps, because there was someone blocking the stairs.  
Someone in a leather jacket with mussed up hair and at least three days of stubble across his chin. Someone who stank like the dumpster behind the liquor store.

"Dean?" Incredulous, Sam grabbed the man's shoulder, so that he could look into who couldn't be- absolutely could not be- Sam's older brother.

"Sammy," the man on the steps forced his mouth into something between a grin and a grimace, and met Sam's eyes with his.

Sam had to look away. Those were his brother's eyes... technically, but Dean's eyes were opaque green, not this confused watered down mixture of regret and pleading.

"Dean- God- hey, what're you doing in California?" That seemed like a logical place to start. And a good way to judge how hammered Dean really was.

That's when he spotted the impala parked cross-ways in the driveway, blocking Sam's cheap beige Honda civic. Did he ever hate that Honda civic.

"Did you _drive_ here?" He was having difficulty keeping the concern from seeping into his voice, "Did you drive here like this?"

Dean pulled a flask from his coat pocket, chuckling, "How else would I get here? Of course I drove."

Sam grabbed the flask from Dean's hands and gave it a sniff. Whatever was in there could kill anyone's liver in a single swig, "Gaah, what are you drinking? Motor oil?" He poured it onto the petunias Jess had planted. They were half dead anyway. "What I meant was, did you drive here as shit-faced as you are now?"

"Thanks, Sammy, real nice of you..."

"Just answer the question?"

"Yeah, alright, I did. Shoot me." He was flailing his arms everywhere. Sam had to duck twice to avoid being smacked in the face.

"Man, I'm not angry," he really wasn't, but his voice was rising, his heart trying to beat out of his chest, "Jesus, you're scaring me, I mean I haven't seen you in forever and you show up on my doorstep five minutes before I have to be at work... This is just-" he took a deep breath, "it's just that this isn't normal. For you. Or me. You shouldn't have driven here like this."

"Where else should I have gone?"

"I don't know-"

"You don't want me here," he stood up lopsidedly. Sam stood with him, stabilizing him by holding his shoulder, "that's clear. You don't need little old me to upset your career as a phony, money-grubbing prick."

It was difficult not to spit back, but Sam reminded himself that his brother wasn't fully capable of what came out of his mouth. "Dean, no, I'm glad you're here. I was just worried that you drove drunk all the way from... Where were you?"

"Lawrence."

"Wait, why'd you drive here? Why not go to Mom and Dad's place?"

"Because," Dean grinned, "Nobody gets me like you do, Sammy."

Dean was being sarcastic, he knew, but Sam hugged his alcohol soaked brother hard. Dean felt thin. He had none of the bulk that he should have had as a mechanic, and none of the fat that his cheeseburger dominated diet would have implied. Sam felt like if he let go, his brother's soul would run out of his feet like thin wine.

Sam cleared his throat, "Come on in."

He opened the door.

He smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

"Jess," Sam rapped on the bedroom door. His hands were shaking. Maybe if he held them in fists it wouldn't show.

He had made Dean sit on the couch and told him to wait a minute while he gathered anything and everything in the house containing alcohol into his arms and ran upstairs to tell Jess that his brother had shown up. "Jess- shit!" A bottle of expensive scotch that they'd bought for Jess's dad hit the ground and shattered.

The bedroom door opened and Jess stepped out onto a patch of scotch, "Ew! What the hell is going on out here Sam?"

"Take this," he handed her two bottles of wine.

"I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Winchester, but you know I can't drink, what with the baby and all," she was wearing a joking smile, but it faded when she gave Sam a once over, "Why are you bringing out liquor cabinet upstairs?"

"I'll explain in a second, let's just put these away."

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"Yes."

They stacked the bottles in their closet, behind the old shoes and forgotten t-shirts.

"My brother is here," Sam said as normally as he could.

"Who?" Jess's eyes widened, "Dean? _Dean's_ here?"

Sam nodded. "I'm sorry... he just showed up on the doorstep, and he was drunk, and I didn't know what to... I told him he could come in... Jess, what am I supposed to do? It's my first day, I'm already twenty minutes late, but I can't just leave him there... He's not himself, he's-"

"Go," Jess cut him off.

"What? But I can't-"

"Go to work. We'll both be here when you get home," she was giving him the look that he'd marry her for. Jess could penetrate you to the soul with her sheer strength and willpower, bending you to her indisputable command.

"Okay," Sam unclenched his hands and took three deep breaths. That's what you were supposed to do to relax, right? Breathe. Jess could handle this. He'd be back in eight hours to sort things out. "Thank you. I love you."

"I love you, too," Jess kissed him on the cheek.

On the way out Sam grabbed the keys to the impala and drove it to his first day of work. He sped. He was only ten minutes late.

* * *

Ten was too many minutes late. Sam got called into the boss's office as soon as he walked in.

"Winchester, right?" His boss, Mr. Llewelyn was decked out in what Sam guesstimated was a 600 dollar suit. Lawyers were always trying to impress each other with expensive suits. "Come on in to my office."

"Yessir," Sam said, realizing that he smelled distinctly of scotch.

Mr. Llewelyn's office was furnished with mahogany and velvet upholstered chairs. He also has a small bust of himself on his desk, which Sam thought was kind of douchey. The office smelled distinctly of wood varnish and expensive scotch. 'Thank God,' Sam thought, sniffing himself discreetly, 'I'll blend right in.'

"You realize you were twenty minutes late this morning?" Llewelyn gestured at a tiny chair for Sam to sit on. He sat, knees practically jammed through his throat.  
"I'm sorry, sir," he didn't bother to correct Llewelyn on the fact that he was only ten minutes late, and he gave no excuse. Dean wasn't an excuse anyway; he was Sam's brother.

Llewelyn had his famous poker face on, the one that had let him pull murderers out of prison and put dastardly kingpins in. It was the kind of face that any human should be scared of. Sam stared back.

"Well, innocent until proven guilty, I suppose!" the boss let out a belly laugh and reached a leathery nicotine stained hand out for Sam to shake, "Welcome to Llewelyn and Co., pleased to have such a capable young man on our team."

"Pleased to be working for you, sir," Sam said in rehearsed response. Llewelyn gave him a tour, and started him on a case.

* * *

No one chatted at the water cooler. Sam never ate the granola bar.

* * *

He called Jess on the way home.

"Hey," he tried to sound casual.

"Hey, Sam," Jess was trying to sound casual Too. He could tell. "How was work?"

"Good," he told her. It had been long and hard. Boring. Made worse by the knowledge that he'd left his brother at home when he obviously needed support, "how's Dean?"

"Hungover."

"Mhm," That was no surprise.

"He locked himself in the bathroom with the lights off."

"Is he... Does he seem okay, though?"

"Well, I haven't really had a chance to talk to him. The only thing that's had face to face with him since you left is the toilet."

"He must have said something to you."

"Only that he wanted a beer."

"You didn't-"

"Of course I didn't give him one. Don't you trust me? I told him we didn't have anything."

"Good."

"He's in rough shape, huh?"

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. You?"

"Sure. I'm making tacos."

"Looking forward to it."

"See you soon?"

"Yeah."

Sam's mind had moved onto other things. He didn't notice that Jess had hung up until he pulled into the driveway.


	3. Chapter 3

_**I might be a bit slow uploading new chapters in the next couple of weeks. My exams are coming up. Thanks so much for reading, and don't forget to review!**_

"Do these tacos taste funny to you?"

Jess whipped her head towards a pasty, but grinning Dean. "Excuse me?"

"The tacos," he pointed at one, "Do they taste funny to you?"

Sam watched Jess reel herself in, refraining from telling Dean off. Things had been going okay until now. Tense and awkward, but okay. Maybe it was time to change the subject.

"So, Dean," Sam interjected before anyone could start a fight, "You speak to Mom and Dad recently?"

Dean barked out a laugh, "Mom and Dad? What am I, six?"

"I just meant-"

"No, Sammy. I didn't. They don't want to hear from me anytime in the near future," Dean was obviously bitter about this.

"Did something happen?" Sam couldn't believe that their parents wouldn't want to talk to Dean.

"Not any one thing in particular," Dean told Sam, shaking his head. "At least, that's what they told me. I'm gonna take a wild guess and say it was the time I smashed Dad's car up."

Jess let out a small gasp and shared a panicked glance with Sam. "You smashed John's car up?" She knew how much John Winchester loved his cars.

"I broke up with my girlfriend," Dean replied as if a break up could void his crime.

"Wait, you broke up with Chantelle?" this surprised Sam. His brother and Chantelle had been really close. Practically engaged.

Dean looked down at his overfilled taco and took a huge bite. If anything, Dean's unwillingness to reply meant yes.

"Jesus, Dean."

Sam and Jess cleared the plates away as Dean headed out to the living room to watch whatever sport was on Monday night.

* * *

After cleaning up Jess was tired out, so she went upstairs to bed. Sam was thankful for this. He felt as though he needed to get the whole story of Dean's descent into... whatever this was... a breakdown... alcoholism...

He joined Dean on the musty couch, and turned the TV off. Without the blue glare of the screen the living room was close to pitch black.

"What did you do that for?"

Sam held the remote away from Dean's reach. "What happened to you, Dean?"

"Come on, Sammy, you don't wanna know."

"I do."

"You don't."

"Do."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"No," Dean stood up, angry, "You don't."

Sam stood to face him, "I need to know Dean. I want to know. Please."

The older brother sat back down, face in hands.

"I already told you how I fell out with Mom and Dad... And about how I broke up with Chantelle..."

"I'm sure Mom and Dad will forgive you, and Chantelle... she wasn't the only girl there will ever be... I mean, she was great, but-"

"Sam," Dean's hands were burrowing into his face so far that Sam wondered if it was made of liquid. "Sammy, Chantelle's dead."

Sam felt as though someone had just emptied his body of blood and refilled him with icy water.

"You didn't..." he almost accused his older brother of withholding information from him, but stopped. It wasn't important that he didn't know right away. What was important was that his brother was here, now, telling him to help. "Oh my God, Dean. Why didn't you call? Do... do Mom and Dad know?"

"No," he chuckled, "No, I didn't want to bother them. Besides, what I told you about Dad's car is true. I smashed it up pretty well before heading out. Only it wasn't because I pissed him off like I said at dinner. We were in an accident. She didn't make it out."

"Shit," Sam could only make out the silhouette of Dean's face in the darkened living room, "How are you still..." _How are you still doing anything?_ Sam wanted to ask. He knew if Jess died that he'd be out of action. Or crazy. Dean didn't seem like he was about to fall off the ledge of sanity. There was the drinking, but that was what Dean did. Every break-up had given birth to a new story of drunken disorderly in Dean's case, even when he and Sam were in high school.

"That's a good question, Sammy. How am I still..." Dean trailed off, unable to continue. His face was pressed deeply in his palms again. He would always try to force the tears back in. Dean was an expert at that kind of thing. This time, however, Dean could not win, so he took his loss silently, watching as the tears fell through the cracks, and his loss possessed him.

The brothers were silent for a long time.

Dean who had re-conquered his facade, broke the quiet air, "Do you believe in angels?"

"What?" startled, Sam sat up straighter, unsure of what he had heard.

"Angels. Do you believe in them?"

"I don't know..."

Dean was monotone. Flat, honest, emotionless. "I think one saved me."

Sam was scared. Dean was approaching the ledge.


	4. Chapter 4

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"His name is Castiel," Dean explained to Sam, who was fingering his phone in a way that indicated an urge to phone an ambulance. What was the standard procedure in a case like this? What should he do? Phone an ambulance? Call a shrink? How did Sam, the younger, the brother who had always been picked on for being weak, how could he suddenly be stronger? More whole?

"Angels don't... they... even if they did... Dean..." Sam was crying now. He didn't want to be, but the shock of what Dean had said let some part of him go.

"I know- I knew you'd think I was crazy, but..." Dean sighed, a new manic light in his eyes, "How could I get out of that accident? I mean there was... everywhere there was... blood and... Chantelle was... but I made it out. Somehow. The car was in flames, Sammy, in flames and I just- I was fine. Not a scratch. Nothing. I left and I felt pure. The only thing that got me out was Castiel." He spoke the way the guys outside of the liquor store that begged for a couple of cents before you went in. Like the men on the streets who had long since lost their minds. Too many words, too many ideas. Too fast.

"I'm calling an ambulance-"

"Sammy, no," Dean stood with such conviction that he seemed like his old self. Tough. Unbeatable. "This isn't your call."

"Yes it is." Wasn't it?

"No. Sam, do you know what I heard when I stood, watching what was left of my wife burn in that car? It wasn't my own voice screaming at the wreck. What I heard was something else. It spoke to me like- like it was near me- in my ear, but also like it was everywhere. It was saying one thing over and over, 'Dean Winchester is saved,' and I was. I was saved. Sammy, I tried to drink it away, but it just became clearer... Someone had to save me, right? There was no way I could have made it out of there alive without having been sa-"

"You're having some sort of mental break, Dean. This isn't normal. It must be the grief or the-"

"Don't you dare explain this away. You saw me this morning," he was pretty much shouting now, "There was no way I could have driven here, to your house, without instructions and so fucking drunk. You know, there's a whole patch I don't remember? I passed out when I was driving here, not just for a second, but for _hours_. I woke up, and I was still at the wheel, and Cas... Cas was just telling me to keep on going. He said you'd understand."

There was no reply. There was nothing that could be said to clarify what Dean had just said. Angels... voices. There was no such thing.

"Get some rest, Dean," Sam told his brother, "See you in the morning."

* * *

Sam checked Dean into the psych ward at the hospital in the morning before heading to work. On hindsight, this was probably a bad idea.

A bloody lip, black eye, and somewhat less of a tie than he'd had before, Sam showed up at the office a veritable mess, though he was on time. The boss had no comment, but stared him down in the condescending way that foreshadowed a pink slip. That didn't matter, though. Dean's mental health mattered.

Believe it or not, Jess was actually against taking Dean in to the hospital. She had said that although Dean probably did have a few screws loose, he was most likely just in shock. Ultimately, though, a "probably just in shock" wasn't enough of a guarantee of sanity, so Sam took it upon himself to decide. He managed to lure Dean to the hospital. And this was better. For all of them.

Even when Dean started throwing punches, Sam repeated this mantra_. It was better. For all of them. _Whatever it was that was causing an angel to manifest itself in Dean's mind... schizophrenia, shock, brain injury... needed to get out or get treated, and Sam was sure that the process needed for this to happen would not be an easy one for Dean, or those around him.

Sam spent a lot of time by the water cooler that day. It seemed that every sip he took only increased his thirst, like some Greek curse designed to torture the victim. People asked him if he was alright, or told him he was bleeding in that helpful way that people do when they notice the fresh blood on a collar. Some employees just stared.

He left work early. He couldn't handle the stares. They made him feel like Dean's crazy was catching.


End file.
